


Saturday Deconstruction

by Frolic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Doctor Sexy M.D., Feelingsporn, M/M, Panties, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Spanking, Submissive/Bottom Dean, Yellow panties, cowboy boots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frolic/pseuds/Frolic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Sexy rules the halls of Seattle Mercy Hospital with a firm hand and expensive cowboy boots. Cas does the same, to Dean, every Saturday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Deconstruction

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to [Zi](http://deanhime.tumblr.com/) (you know what you did!) and also holyfrackles (fic officially dedicated to [these](http://holyfrackles.tumblr.com/tagged/yellow-panties) [tags](http://holyfrackles.tumblr.com/tagged/totally+not+a+destiel+sex+tag/) which I have been camped on for a few days while writing)
> 
> This was written in a vague future verse where Cas and Dean have sort of retired from hunting. As for why they're not in the bunker... no yard? Harder to have sex everywhere? Destroyed in some disastrous, unmentioned apocalypse? Who knows.

Dean and Castiel do have plenty enthusiastic, spontaneous, clumsily sex, and they do it on almost every surface they find available (the kitchen table, the bathtub, the couch, the bed, the hammock out back) and some that they _make_ available (when feeling impatient, both are fond of knocking framed pictures off walls and sweeping books from desks). But once a week they do something different, as long as they haven’t been called out as emergency back up in an apocalypse of some kind. Make no mistake: apocalypses are the only things which get Castiel and Dean out in the field, these days, especially on Saturdays.

On Saturdays, Cas puts on a pair of cowboy boots and Dean lays over his lap. The origins of this practice are uncomplicated. Basically, it starts because they have Netflix. Dean insisted on it, just like he insisted on a patio to grill on and a bed with magic fingers and a yard where they would never, ever have a dog. Cas let him have whatever he wanted — because it was about time Dean realized that he deserved it.

Just like then, Saturday afternoons and evenings are about what Dean wants. Cas only wants Dean, and intimacy with him, and when their relationship was fresh and new that mean watching _Doctor Sexy, MD_. with Dean until it inevitably descended into making out and stripping down and making Dean come as quick as a teenager. At first it meant staying quiet when Dean’s eyes strayed to the TV while his hips were jerking in the stuttering motions of climax.

Then, eventually, intimacy meant asking Dean about it. It meant sitting down for breakfast Sunday morning and ignoring the paper in order to say, “Dean, you have a proclivity for Dr. Sexy. Should we address that directly in our sex life?”

Dean had squawked, “I _do not_!”

Castiel had taken a calm sip of orange juice (he can’t stomach coffee anymore) and said, “You look at him when you come.” It hadn’t been the smoothest introduction of kinks, but it hadn’t gone _that_ badly, either — the fiasco brought on by Castiel bringing up the panties had consumed their house in awkwardly tension for a week.

(And then there was Dean’s idea of talking opening about kinks, which involved saying, “Hey, Cas, so was there anything that you — uh — I mean — do you need anything besides — hand me a beer. Is everything good?”)

So on Saturday afternoons, after lunch, Cas sits down with a beer in the middle of the couch. He wears cowboy boots, scrubs, and a doctor’s lab coat. Dean shuffles in, blush a light dusting under his freckles, even the ones on his shoulders. Always, he’s wearing a pair of panties. Sometimes silk, sometimes plain cotton, sometimes more string or ribbon than anything else. The more feminine the underwear, the more insecure Dean is feeling.

On a Saturday in early July, Dean wears a light yellow lace pair, which let his freckles peak through shyly. There are tiny white bows on the hips. A white camisole, made of lace even more delicate than Dean’s panties, strains over Dean’s chest and doesn’t managed to come all the way down to Dean’s hips. Dean shuffles across the room, bends to pick the remote up, and the cami rides up, exposing three or four inches of Dean’s lower back to Castiel.

Cas and Dean have been working their way through _Doctor Sexy, MD_ for a year now, starting with the first season. They should be starting the third season tonight, but Cas knows already that it’s a night for reruns. Dean won’t be able to focus on new plot developments, not if he’s come out wearing a camisole. Castiel tugs his scrubs down until they bunch just above his knees, revealing that he’s already half-hard and certainly not wearing underwear.

Sometimes Cas leaves the scrubs up, but today all Cas wants them to feel is each other and the lace. Cas pats his thighs, covered in close, dark hair, and enjoys the hungry look that Dean gives him.

Dean hands the remote over to Castiel and crawls onto the couch, laying on his stomach so that his ass is over Castiel’s lap. Dean squirms a little, already hard, and folds his arms under his head so that he can watch the TV. Castiel turns on an episode from mid season two, one in which the diagnosis is once again _not_ lupus and Doctor Sexy spends about a third of the episode thundering about the hospital, cracking orders, nurses swooning in his wake. Dean stops squirming when Castiel lays the remote on his ass so that it rests in the valley between his cheeks.

Anticipatory, Dean relaxes even as he quivers, opening his legs slightly, but it’s not time for that yet. Castiel pulls out a pair of latex gloves and lays them over the remote. Then, he rests his beer on the small of Dean’s back and his free hand on one of Dean’s thighs. Dean jerks and gasps, but Castiel doesn’t do much else, only brushing fingers occasionally over the crease of Dean’s ass, the round swell that the panties don’t cover.

They watch the show for a good fifteen minutes. Dr. Sexy tells Dr. Ellen Piccolo, “ _I’m the lead doctor on this diagnosis!_ I’m _in charge!_ ” and Castiel’s lips quirk because it makes Dean turn practically to pudding. Soon after, Cas leans forward and finally places his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. He’s done making Dean wait. For now.

The latex gloves are as tight as always. They go on with a snap, and while Cas thinks, he puts the remote on the couch arm by Dean’s head and rubs away the condensation left to slide slowly down Dean’s spine.

“Cas,” Dean whines eventually.

Castiel smoothes his hand down Dean’s back, over his ass, and slides two fingers between Dean’s legs until he can press in with his knuckles and rub the back of Dean’s balls. It makes Deans take a deep, hopeful breath, and this time Cas doesn’t disappoint. Cas’s knuckles smooth up and down Dean’s perineum and taunt him with the barest touches where he wants the most pressure. Cas slides up roughly to Dean’s entrance and circles it for minutes at a time, pulling the panties tight.

The waistband surely cuts into Dean’s dick, but he only moans and alternates between rocking against Cas’s lap and pressing back against Cas’s hand. Cas has grown to like the feeling of delicate underwear against him just as much as Dean does, though Cas is almost never the one wearing the panties.

“You’re always so good at making your appointments,” Castiel mutters to Dean, while on the TV Dr. Sexy is running tests in a lab to prove lupus impossible. Castiel is hard, just like Dean, though he’s sure that most of the dampness he can feel against his cock, in the lace of the panties, is _Dean’s_ precome.

Castiel takes Dean’s balls into the palm of his hand, finally, and rests the other against Dean’s neck where he can feel Dean’s every twitch and Dean can feel the gloves Cas is wearing. Dean trembles. Castiel rubs the lace against Dean’s balls, and Dean lets out a reverent moan.

“I always pay special attention to your chart,” Castiel adds. “Because you’re my favorite patient, but I’m sure you know that already. Why else would you wear such pretty panties for me?”

“You like them?” Dean is desperate, both for reassurance and for Castiel’s hands, which do not stop rubbing his balls, fondlingly them arhythmically because being unable to predict things drives Dean _crazy_. “Other people — I thought they might be too — too sissy. I’ve gotta look weird in them, you can level with me, Doc. You just like me lookin’—”

Dean cuts off with a sudden grunt, because Castiel has squeezed and pulled at the same time to cut off self-depreciation. Cas gives the balls another tug and this time the grunt is more of a groan and Dean inadvertently gives himself _yet another_ tug because his hips rock suddenly and enthusiastically downwards into Cas’s, seeking friction. Dean whimpers, hiding his face in his arms.

“My professional opinion,” Castiel says slowly, rolling the balls as if fondling Dean helps him think, “is that they look perfect on you. _You_ are perfect, and I won’t hear otherwise.” Cas continues to pull gently at Dean’s balls, more than enough to be uncomfortable for him but well within the range of the kind of pain Dean enjoys. It denies him proper friction and gives Cas the rare opportunity to have Dean’s attention entirely on him.

Castiel presses down on Dean’s neck, and then shifts the hand to press against his head in an even more reassuring placement. Dean has started to shake in the manner which indicates he is about to cry, or perhaps has started already — that is usually the reason Dean hides his face.

“If you would like, I can do a series of examinations. To make sure I am not mistaken, so that you can trust my word on the matter.”

Dean lets out a noise that indicates assent, so Castiel proceeds. He holds Dean still with an arm laid across his hips, hand curled possessively to finger that tiny white bow with his smooth plastic grasp. The _Doctor Sexy_ episode winds down as Cas fishes out his lube, and in the silence that comes while Netflix counts down fifteen seconds before it autoplays the next episode, Castiel pops the cap of the lube off. He coats his three middle fingers (well, frankly, most of the hand) in lube and then sets the bottle aside.

Castiel pulls the panties down only as far as he must, leaving them bunched up just below the crease of Dean’s cheeks. Carefully, steadily, Castiel presses his first finger into Dean, easily invading him. It’s a long time before Castiel moves past that first finger, taking his time to slide it in and out regularly until Dean is breathing in pace with it, only to suddenly increase or decrease tempo.

“This is the first way I know you’re perfect,” says Castiel. “You’re always so good to me. No one else is ever as good as you, Dean, and all the other doctors know it.”

The new episode of _Doctor Sexy_ has laid out the main plotline for the week and gone through the opening sequence before Castiel adds another finger. Within a few minutes Dean is breathing hard and Castiel must lean some weight on the arm holding Dean’s hips still. By the middle of the episode Dean has begun to sob audibly.

“You never look better than when you’re all opened up for me, wearing delicate things that make you feel good,” says Cas. He spreads his fingers and twists his wrist, drawing stuttered moans from Dean. “You look so pretty in your panties, Dean, you’re lovely in lace. Say that for me, so I know you understand.”

Dean mumbled something inaudible. His face is pressed into the couch cushions now, arms on top of his head, pressing his face hard in an effort to muffle his weeping. It’s a shame, because Castiel loves it when Dean is brought to tears with just words and fingers.

The twist and buck of Dean’s hips has become too strong for Castiel to really hold down with just his weight on his arm, so he pushes his fingers deep into Dean. He holds that hand very still, and Dean twitches and squeezes and squirms around his fingers but holds miraculously still. Castiel removes the arm over Dean’s hips and trails his hand up Dean’s back.

The camisole has been twisted wildly around Dean’s torso, and has ridden up to his shoulder blades — stopped only by his arms. Castiel tugs it down, fingers the lace and ribbon, and thinks that when they’re done on the couch he’s going to make Dean put on his tight white booty shorts and wash the Impala. Punishment, he’ll say, because Dean had spoken so badly of himself. Or perhaps he’ll claim that he knows Dean doesn’t have the money for his co-pay, if he’s still playing doctor for Dean at that point.

“I couldn’t hear you,” says Castiel mildly as he leaves his contemplation of the camisole behind to grip what he can of Dean’s short hair and pull his head up and back. He wants to see — yes. Dean’s flushed, tear-streaked face. Pupils blown, lips trembling. Soggy and beautiful. Castiel commands Dean, voice a low rumble: “Say it again. Say it until I make you come.”

Dean obeys. Dean always obeys, because this is what he wants from Cas: Harsh comfort, tender orders, and no room to feel guilty or wrong or insufficient.

“I’m — I’m pretty in panties,” stutters Dean, and Castiel bends his fingers down, just a little, and begins to draw them out, slowly, looking for the right spot. He stops when Dean stops talking, moving his fingers back to where they were before, but Dean starts right back up again.

“I look lovely in lace, my panties — pretty — _Cas_ — pretty in panties, lovely in lace — I — I look good — in lace panties—” Cas finds Dean’s prostate and begins to rub it in earnest, but it shocks Dean out of speach. Castiel takes the opportunity to add a third finger, and when he sets all of them to stretching and stroking Dean, Dean begins to rock his hips in tiny, circular motions. He canting around Castiel’s fingers and rubbing his cock against lace and against Cas.

Only practice brought from many previous Saturdays and the iron-will only an angel can possess keeps Cas from bucking up into Dean. Castiel tugs Dean’s hair, reminding him to talk and Dean begins again, speaking in rhythm with his hips and Castiel’s fingers and his own breathless moans.

“—you _love me_... in lace panties, on your lap, being so good — so good — in lace — yellow — panties — Cas — please —” on and on and on, until Dean comes with a shout, roaring Cas’s name and soaking the front of the panties completely. Castiel knows that when they’re done, he’ll be wiping himself off with Dean’s camisole. And then he’ll probably make Dean put the camisole back on, as a physical reminder of how good Dean has been.

Castiel doesn’t remove his fingers from Dean, even when Dean is done coming and has fallen silent except for exhausted breathing and stifled sniffles, but he does let Dean’s head go. Dean has become boneless, and he rests his head on his arms again, tension seeping out of him as he enters what Dean calls afterglow.

They’re not even close to done yet today, though. Dean dozes a little through the end of the episode and Castiel tugs off the glove of the hand not still lodged inside Dean, perfectly still, waiting to wind him up again. With his bare hand, Castiel pets Dean until he wakes up, and then grasps his hand.

“Squeeze for me,” Castiel requests, and Dean squeezes both of Castiel’s hands, signaling that he’s ready for round two.

Dean is always sensitive after he comes, and lethargic, and Castiel goes slow, by necessity, going back to just one finger. Cas plays with Dean’s entrance, first, tracing the rim two or three times before giving Dean one or two knuckles worth. Dean whimpers and pants the entire time, and squirms around the finger with the smallest movements possible, searching for a position where the gentle teasing is more bearable. He won’t find one, of course;Castiel has no plans to show him any mercy.

“You should make appointments with me more often,” Castiel muses. “I think you would benefit from having someone stretch you open more than once a week.” He removes his finger for a minute, enjoying the way Dean’s ass shakes and trembles at the absence. Cas replaces his finger in one swift thrust and is rewarded with a pained, defeated sob as Dean’s hips push back towards Cas’s finger against Dean’s will.

Dean mutters a muffled _please_ into the couch, and Castiel ignores him. Castiel holds his finger still, and keeps silent, until Dean twists his hips and says _sorry_ and _please_ and then _Doctor_ , begging not for Castiel to go easy on him but instead for Castiel to dosomething other than keep him pinned and aching. By the time Dean is impatient, though, his breathing has evened out, stopped hitching and coming out in wet, miserable gusts. That’s not right - Cas wants Dean to cry all the way through coming a second time, because Dean sobbing at all means he needs to cry _very_ badly.

“You’re so much better when you’re open my lap, crying, feeling full and pretty, Dean. The nurses tell me you’re a handful before I come in and take care of you.” Castiel draws his finger out slowly, and then once again removes it. Dean’s hips try to follow, and this time Dean’s legs scrabble to force his hips higher, chasing Castiel’s hand.

Castiel takes great pleasure in smacking Dean’s ass. It makes Dean yelp and drop his hips back down to Castiel’s lap. Castiel takes the opportunity to trap the flaccid dick between his thighs. It makes his own cock less comfortable, bumping against Dean’s hip, but Dean’s distressed jerk when Cas squeezes more than makes up for it.

“Do you just always feel empty, Dean?” Cas asks. He smooths his hand over where he hit, streaking lube across Dean’s skin.

Dean stutters a pathetic yes.

“Good. Knowing what the problem is is the first step to treatment.” A second slap, this time to the other cheek, sends Dean yelping and jerking forward with the power of it. Cas litters his thighs and ass with punishing blows until Dean is hard and sobbing again and the next episode of _Doctor Sexy_ is well on its way.

With a white knuckled grip, Dean holds onto the couch cushion he’s been crying and panting into for the better part of three episodes. He’s trying not to rock forward with the force of Castiel’s, trying to stay still and be good, and later Castiel will tell him that he did a good job.

When Castiel stops, he gropes for the lube with one hand (he always loses it in the couch cushions, of course) and rubs every bit of Dean he’s hit with the other hand, until his bottom and upper thighs are shining and Dean has begun to beg in soft moans between his weeping. Softly, Cas says, “You just need a firm hand and more cock. You’re not going to argue with me about that, are you?”

Being hit, as always, really speaks to Dean; it leaves him even more responsive to orders than usual. Castiel doesn’t really wait around for him to answer, knowing he’ll do whatever Castiel says in hopes of going back to praise and satisfying touches.

“I want to see you,” Cas tells Dean as he finds the lube. “Hold yourself open for me.”

Moaning into the couch, toes curling, Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand and reaches back to hold his cheeks apart by an inch or so.

“Wider,” Castiel demands. “Pull your cheeks apart and keep them there - I need to see what I’m doing to examine you properly, I want you to hold yourself so still while I’m inspecting you that you bruise. I want the nurses to know how much of you I’ve seen and how much you _liked_ it.”

Dean adjusts his grip so that he’s wide open for Castiel, fingers digging into his soft flesh and back arching to hold the position. It presses his face harder into the couch and Dean knows there must be a wet spot there from Dean’s spit and tears. Moist, hot proof of how much Dean wants this.

Castiel squeezes more lube onto his gloved fingers and after careful inspection finds Dean loose enough to enter with two fingers straight away. He leans over Dean to watch his fingers disappear, swallowed up. The faster he goes the more obscene the noise, and Dean winds up as tight as a spring without even a third finger. Castiel’s clean hand rests on Dean’s lower back, steadying him, and Castiel does his best not to buck up into Dean. The panties are stiff and itchy with dried come, and are only going to get worse before they’re through, but Castiel doesn’t intend to add to the mess just yet.

On the TV, Doctor Sexy starts screaming at a new resident, fresh out of school, who has almost killed someone via inattention to the size of the dose prescribed. Castiel finds Dean’s prostate again and rests his fingers against it.

“Do you want to come again?” Castiel asks, but Dean only sobs and cries out into the couch. He’s definitely drooling, crying too hard to swallow or keep his mouth closed. This is a good release for Dean, and of course it doesn’t matter that he’s too incoherent to offer his opinion on the matter. That’s completely, entirely the point.

Castiel rubs his fingers in small circles, knowing he has exactly the right place. Alternating soft and hard, erratic and rhythmic, Castiel brings Dean off a second time. This time it isn’t the ecstatic explosion it was before. No, the second time, as always, is softer and gentler. It’s a release for Dean, a collapse of his defences. He comes moaning Cas’s name, saying he loves him, saying _thank you_ in that broken, amazed tone he only uses when Castiel has won an argument hands-down.

Castiel strips off his gloves and rubs Dean’s back as he calms down. With his celestial powers diminished to nothing, taking Dean apart is the closest Castiel will ever get to putting him back together. Every Saturday afternoon, Castiel spends hours knowing he is the only being in all of his Father’s creation with this kind of hold over Dean Winchester.

When Dean has caught his breath and had some time to wipe his own tears away, Castiel pulls him into a sitting position and makes him drink in small sips from the water bottle on the coffee table. Castiel is still hard, and they’re _still_ not done (and Doctor Sexy _still_ hasn’t decided whether or not to have sex with the new resident) but the rest of the afternoon will be different. Lighter. As soon as Dean has had an acceptable amount of water, Castiel kisses him with all the emotions he can never seem to explain.

Doing what he does to Dean doesn’t just arouse Cas. It makes him feel strong. It makes him feel like he can see the entire universe, contained in Dean’s head, and that’s the only power Cas really needs.

**Author's Note:**

> -Dean doesn't want a dog because he has unhappy memories of hell hounds. Also, he'd have to take it to the vet and it would smell up the Impala.  
> -Cas doesn't drink coffee because of the events of The Great Escapist (8.21)


End file.
